


Don't Flinch

by Poose



Category: American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Acting, Angst, Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Drabble, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Garfield leaves to change into his own, casual clothes before returning to crouch behind the camera as it hovers close to Eisenberg. Just before the camera rolls, he leans toward the Zombieland star and hisses, ‘You’re a fucking dick and you betrayed your best fucking friend. Live with that.’ It’s shocking to hear. It certainly helps with the take. And it is evidence both of Garfield’s professional generosity and Fincher’s nous – for the abuse was at the director’s instruction." -- Empire Report on the set of The Social Network.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Flinch

It is so late. So late it's gone early. His eyes are burning and his shoulders are practically wrenched from their sockets from twenty-five takes of _push stride scream grab smash,_ again and again.

It is almost five in the morning before the blessed words, _cut it,_ and then _moving on, let's finish here with the reaction shots of Jesse, okay guys?_

David draws Andrew aside, steers him over by the elbow towards the boom mike guy.

"Can you stick around for those?" he asks, and Andrew looks over at Jesse, who looks as tired as he feels, his eyes unfocused on the floor, the florescent lights making him look so pale and small. He rubs his forehead and fumbles in his pocket for his own, wire-framed glasses. It makes his heart ache to look at him, his own open expressions eroded by someone else's sadness.

"Sure," he says, when David repeats his name.

"Great," David says, tightening his grip on his shoulder. "Grab a smoke, change your clothes. Fifteen?"

"Sure," Andrew says again. He starts to walk over towards Jesse, to make sure he's okay, but David stops him.

"Leave him be," he says.

"Can I just talk to him for a second?" he says, knowing that David being David, he has some note to give, one word that he'll say that Andrew will have to Google the definition of when he's outside.

David tilts his head, his eyes narrowing very slightly.

"When you come back," he goes on, continuing a conversation that's been going on for two months now, "when you come back say whatever you want to him."

"I don't understand," Andrew says, avoiding David's gaze. He can see Jesse still sitting in his chair. He usually goes to the bathroom in between scenes, so Andrew assumes he'll walk past at some point.

Jesse just sits there."I mean," David says, quietly, "that you can feed him whatever you want. I know you, Andrew. You can get a reaction out of him. Anything you want to say, not even as Eduardo, as someone here, watching, maybe like, the outside observer. How do they feel about what Mark's doing here? That's what I want you to tap into, just that indignation? A kind of righteous indignation, and deep anger, but also reluctant sadness, because this is _it,_ right here. You're disgusted by him, this person that you've given yourself to. He's no longer even a person to you, like, here, he's dead to you, all at once. This is the emotional crux of the story, here. Can you give me that?"

"Sure," Andrew says. He feels blank. He waits for David to dismiss him before he goes back to wardrobe, puts on his own blue sweatshirt, his jeans, slip-on shoes. He grabs a cup of coffee from craft services and goes around to the side lot. Aaron is there -- the man's smoke breaks are like clockwork, he doesn't even wait around for the direction, "I trust you, David, I'll be back in two minutes, two minutes," and then running off to suck down a Marlboro light in ten desperate inhales.

Aaron is out there, but he is standing over to the side, talking in raspy murmurs on his mobile.

Andrew is grateful for that, since he is not in the mood to talk to Aaron, or to anyone, really. He props his foot against the wall and pulls out his phone, looking up the definition of 'indignation.' He already knows what 'disgust' is.

It takes a full eight minutes to smoke a Spirit, which is fine, because he needs that time to think, to chew on his lip and chew over the words he might say, in his head. He has some ideas, some mean, some just stinging.

"Mr. Garfield? We need you back on set," a PA with a clipboard says.

He glances down and sees that his cigarette has gone out of its own accord. He has forgotten to smoke it.

"Yeah," he says, finding the ashtray.

They go inside. Jesse has his right hand wrapped around a bottle of water and he has his eyes closed, like he is trying to take a tiny nap with his head upright.

The set manager starts calling for places, there are some angles and adjustments being made. He walks over to Jesse, and says his name.

"You all right, man?" he asks.

Jesse looks up at him -- _mournfully._ That's a ten-pence David Fincher word right there.

He nods. He doesn't say anything. He crushes the top part of the partially empty water bottle between his fingers, watches the plastic crinkle. Andrew puts his foot between his open legs and leans in and says, "I'm here for you, okay?"

Jesse gives him a curt nod, his eyes so red, his face just radiating exhaustion, and Andrew feels like someone has scooped out part of his insides, to look at him. He wants to fix him. He definitely doesn't want to be the one hurting him.

He uses his foot to push the chair back and forth, on its wheels. Jesse watches him. Andrew doesn't say anything, because it's kind of like a depression, kind of like a trance. Jesse has to be alone in his character until they get back in the car, because until then they are not friends, until then Jesse is holding his breath.

"I'm here," he says, again, softly. The chair creaks under his foot. Jesse crumples the plastic bottle even harder when David says, "Everyone ready for this next bit?" Another PA takes the bottle away. He takes a deep breath. He hasn't made eye contact with Andrew once.

David goes to stand behind the camera. He nods at Andrew, who looks back to see Jesse taking off his glasses and putting them in his pocket.

"Andrew?" David says? "Good?"

Andrew looks at Jesse.

"Yeah," he says, in a whisper, "let's do this."

"Roll it!" David says.

Andrew leans in, so close Jesse can feel his breath. He spits out the words, and when he pulls away, Jesse flinches like he's been slapped.

They do this forty-six times.


End file.
